


On Purpose

by topside



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topside/pseuds/topside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"After her father’s death, her happy-go-lucky attitude had faded along with her zeal for Project Purity. Lately, he knew, she spent much less time planning their next move and much more time brooding. He supposed the death of a loved one could do that to a person, though he had become a bit numb to the pain of loss over the years."</p><p>I do not own Fallout 3. Bethesda Softworks does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black Widow

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first fanfiction for Fallout 3, a game that is so inspiring I'm not sure how to NOT write for it. The game has such a desolate, desperate atmosphere to it, and I try to capture that in my writing. This is part one of who knows how many, and updates may be sporadic, at best. I work on it whenever I get the time, but between a full-time job, a new puppy, and a house renovation, time is one thing I lack! 
> 
> Feel free to leave any comments you can think of! I welcome any sort of constructive criticism, from plot holes to poor wording to spelling/grammar errors. Thanks so much for taking the time to read this, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> <3 topside

She stumbled in only moments before the sun peeked over the ragged metal walls of Megaton. Though she had been gone all night, he could tell she hadn’t been sleeping; her eyes were half-lidded and dark circles were beginning to form around her lower lashes. What’s more, she brought the smell of booze along with her when she lurched through the door and toward the stairs, one hand resting on the wall in an attempt to keep her balance. She didn’t notice him sitting in the pink armchair by the door, his shotgun dismantled on his lap and a cleaning rag dangling from his mottled fingers. His faded blue eyes followed her as she struggled to make it up the stairs to her bed. Roused by his master’s fumbled entrance, Dogmeat lifted his head from the rug and let out a short whine of concern for the girl. She stopped midway up the steps and turned her head to look at the mutt, her gaze widening as it landed on the ghoul watching her with a steady stare.

“Charon,” she croaked, her voice scratchy with exhaustion.

“Penelope,” he responded evenly, lowering his eyes to his weapon and continuing to run his rag across the burnished metal. “You’re home late.”

“I’d say I’m home rather early,” she quipped cheekily, gesturing out a window to the rays of sunlight that were beginning to creep over the walls and glisten on the metal walkways. “Have you been up all night?” She asked, changing the subject with a pointed look at his gun. He nodded. “Why?”

“I had to make sure my mistress returned home safely,” he replied, sparing her a brief glance, one scraggly eyebrow cocked.

“Bullshit,” she snorted, carefully turning on the stairs and picking her way back down. Once she was safely on the ground, she trudged to the armchair across from him and dropped into it with a weary sigh. “You and I both know you don’t have to wait up for me.”

“Not when you tell me where you’re going,” he agreed. “But when you disappear, I have reason to worry.”

“I told Wadsworth that I went over to Mor-”

“I know.” He cut off her protestation with a growl. “He told me.”

“Then I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“The big deal,” he responded, reassembling his weapon with the ease of practice and setting it on the table between them, “is that you left at ten and now it’s five o’clock in the fucking morning.” As he spoke, his gravelly voice grew more irritated, a fact that sent a look of annoyance across her face.

“Well excuse me,” she snarled, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t realize I had a curfew.”

“You could have been lying out in the Wastes bleeding to death!” He cried, his anger finally growing out of check. “Or Moriarty could have poisoned you, or Jericho-” He stopped at a soft, derisive snort from his employer. “What?”

“You have no faith in me,” she replied, producing a combat knife from the waistband of the light armor she preferred while in Megaton. “You think I can’t take care of myself? I did just fine without you before I got to Underworld, didn’t I? And you think I’m gonna go wandering into the Wastes alone at night? I’m not stupid.” He seemed slightly placated by her words and her weapon, but his flaky lips remained pursed.

“Were you at Moriarty’s all night?” He asked, arching his back to work out the kinks that had developed over the hours of sitting.

“Yeah,” she replied, though her eyes darted to the side as she spoke. He noticed the movement and narrowed his own eyes.

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really,” she answered testily, standing a bit shakily and glaring at him as though her instability was some kind of proof. “Can’t you tell?”

“Moriarty’s isn’t the only place around here that sells liquor. You could’ve been downstairs at The Brass Lantern,” he reasoned. Almost immediately, a light blush flushed her cheeks, and he bit back the urge to smirk, though a glare from Penelope proved that his success showed in his face.

“Ok, fine, I was at The Brass Lantern. What’s it to you?” She asked gruffly, wobbling past him, headed for the stairs once more.

The more she talked, the more Charon suspected her infirmity was a symptom of exhaustion as opposed to a side effect of too much liquor. They had just returned from an extended trek into D.C. earlier the day before, and she had refused to rest up, insisting instead that she join Lucas Simms on the wall, watching for the Raiders that were rumored to be in the area. After night fell, she had briefly stopped in to discard her gun, then made for Moriarty’s Saloon without a passing word to Charon. He wasn’t unused to her frequent lapses in silence: after her father’s death, her happy-go-lucky attitude had faded along with her zeal for Project Purity. Lately, he knew, she spent much less time planning their next move and much more time brooding. He supposed the death of a loved one could do that to a person, though he had become a bit numb to the pain of loss over the years.

Charon was pulled from his thoughts as he heard a scraping noise, and he looked up to see Penelope falling backward, her hands scrabbling against the metal wall for a handhold as her boots lifted from the steps. In an instant, he was at her side, catching her deftly in his strong arms and holding her against his chest as she tried to regain her balance. He looked down to reassure himself that she was safe, and in that moment, their gazes met. Her eyes, wide from the surprise of her sudden fall, latched onto his and held them for a long moment. He was suddenly acutely aware of her fingers curled around his biceps as she clung to him for support; their chests were pressed close together, and their faces were only inches apart. He released her quickly and stepped back, eyeing her.

“Do you need help getting to bed?” He teased, smirking. She narrowed her green eyes at him and scowled.

“No, I’m perfectly capable, thank you,” she retorted, determinedly placing a foot on the bottom step and beginning her upward trek once more. He fell into step behind her, assuring her that he was simply going up to bed himself, though they both knew he was readying himself to catch her should she stumble once more. At the top of the stairs, she bid him goodnight and turned to retreat to her bedroom. He watched her go, but frowned as he caught sight of something on her neck. He reached out a hand and gently grabbed her wrist, causing her to stop and turn around, her gaze somewhat confused.

“What’s that on your neck?” He asked, stepping forward to get a closer look. Furrowing her brow in confusion, she took the mirror off her desk and held it up, flushing scarlet as she saw the mark to which he referred.

“It’s nothing,” she assured him hastily, pulling her wrist free of his grasp and replacing the mirror on the desk. “Really.”

“Is that… a bite mark?” He inquired, incredulity evident in his raspy voice.

“N-No!” She snapped a bit too hastily, shamefully casting her eyes to the floor.

“Who the hell bit you?” He continued, voice hardening. She recognized the protective look in his eyes and shook her head quickly.

“It’s not like that,” she told him. “It was a… misunderstanding, that’s all.”

“Between you and whom?” He demanded, reaching a hand forward to run a finger over the upraised skin. She flinched away, averting her gaze from his once more.

“It’s really not a big deal,” she said weakly, but he only raised his eyebrows expectantly as a way of response. She sighed. “Andy,” she admitted finally.

“Andy Stahl?” She nodded, and his jaw tightened.

“Now don’t you go picking a fight,” she warned sternly. “It’s not what you think. He didn’t attack me – like I said, it was a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding that ended with him biting you?” He replied dubiously.

“Well… Yes. Now go to bed. And don’t mention this to anyone – especially Andy.” She turned to look him in the eye. “Do you understand me?” Reluctantly, Charon nodded an affirmative and bid his employer goodnight, turning to go into his room as she shut the door to hers.

Letting out a tired sigh, he slowly stripped off his armor, draping it neatly on the shelves that stood against a wall. Now clad only in the shorts that served as underwear, he drifted over to his bed and was about to fall into it when he heard Dogmeat’s distinctive whine outside his door. Sighing, he opened the door and surveyed the dog, who pawed pitifully at Penelope’s door, determined to guard his master as she slept. Mumbling about the spoiled animal, Charon stepped over to Penelope’s door and opened it, stepping aside so Dogmeat could enter. He leaned into the room to catch the door handle in one of his big hands, glancing toward Penelope as he did so.

“Charon!” She yelped, scrambling to pick up the tank top she had just discarded on the floor. As she bent to retrieve it, Charon tried not to notice the curve of her breasts and her smooth, muscular thighs.

“Shit, sorry,” he mumbled, flicking his gaze to the floor. “Dogmeat wanted in,” he explained, daring a glance up once she was decent once more. He blinked and stared at what he saw: the pale skin of her shoulders, usually unmarred save for a multitude of freckles, was littered with red bumps, and, as he stared, he realized they were bite marks like the one on her neck. A few swift strides brought him to her side, and he looked down at the marks with concern in his eyes.

“Charon, it’s really not what you think-”

“What the fuck did he do to you?” Charon’s voice was dangerously calm, his gaze fixated on the bite marks. There were several on her shoulders, as well as a few on her collar bone, and he could see another one peeking out from the neck of her tank top. He reached up and pulled the fabric down just enough to reveal it. “On your neck was one thing, but on your chest?”

“I promise it’s nothing to worry about. Please believe me.”

“Did he try to take advantage of you?” The glint in Charon’s eyes suggested that he thought he already knew the answer. Penelope let out a soft chuckle and placed a hand on the ghoul’s chest, pushing him away good-naturedly.

“No, Charon,” she assured him, voice patient. “We…” She huffed a short sigh and crossed her arms over her chest, looking embarrassed. “I drank a little too much and things got out of hand, ok?”

Charon was quiet for a long moment after her confession, though Penelope wasn’t sure if he was processing her words or planning Andy’s impending murder.

“You slept with him?” He asked finally, his voice dull.

“Well, there wasn’t much sleeping involved, but… Yeah.” She rubbed the back of her neck with one hand, face twisted with embarrassment. “Look, it didn’t mean anything. I just- I haven’t… been with anyone since before I left the Vault, you know? And even then I never really… had anyone. And Andy, well, he’s a bit rough, obviously, but he’s a nice enough guy…” She trailed off awkwardly. “Maybe not, y’know, exactly what I want, but nice enough…”

“Right,” Charon said abruptly, spinning on his heel and heading for the door. “Goodnight.” With that, he stepped out of the room and shut the door firmly behind him before re-entering his room and falling to the mattress, which groaned under his sudden weight.

Charon rolled onto his side and tried to get to sleep, but sleep proved elusive despite his long night. Staring up at the dimly lit ceiling, he sighed. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of Penelope having sex with Andy was driving him crazy. He imagined them tumbling into his bedroom, mouths crushed together in a lustful kiss. He imagined Andy ripping the armor off of her small frame and throwing it onto the ground, stepping back to briefly admire her muscled stomach and full, supple breasts before lifting her into his arms and crashing down onto the bed, straddling her wide hips as his fingers flicked across her nipples, hardening them. He imagined Penelope’s cry of euphoric pain as Andy bit into the sensitive skin along her collarbone. He imagined Penelope struggling to stifle her moans as Andy thrust into her. He didn’t think she would let him have the satisfaction of hearing her pleasure voiced; instead, he imagined her thrashing on the bed, biting hard on her lower lip to keep from screaming as her orgasm ripped through her, leaving her trembling from the intensity. He imagined Andy grunting as he finished, then extricating himself from her and getting redressed without a word, leaving her gasping and alone on the bed as he returned to his customers.

Charon groaned a little as the scene played out in his mind. Andy wouldn’t know how to treat Penelope. He didn’t know that she was emotionally fragile, or that she still cried at night sometimes as she mourned for those she was forced to kill. He didn’t know that she had a bullet hole in her left arm that was still healing; he probably grabbed it in the heat of the moment, making her cry out in pain. But he wouldn’t have stopped to check on her: Andy barely even put up with Penelope most days. She was too good for him, literally. She was single-handedly ridding the Wastes of all the vile creatures that plagued it – little did she seem to know, he was one of those creatures. Gob had told Charon once that he had overheard Andy talking to a Mr. Burke, a man from Tenpenny Tower, about rigging the bomb that sat in the middle of Megaton to explode, back before Penelope had waltzed in and disarmed the thing.

That was how she operated, Charon thought with a smirk. Though he knew she was often oblivious to the affect she had on people, he couldn’t help but suspect that some part of her found utter joy in pulling the rug out from under people’s well-laid plans. She especially loved toying with the men that dared to approach her. He had, on occasion, caught a spark of cruel joy flashing in her eyes as she put an end to a suitor’s advances with a few snide words and a wink before heading over to him so they could leave the area. As hard as he tried to ignore the fact, he couldn’t deny that the look of shocked disgust on her suitors’ faces as she left with him at her side gave him a sense of sick satisfaction. He knew that their relationship was strictly business, though it had grown into a sort of friendship over the months since she had bought his contract, but for some reason, the various people they encountered in the Wastes seemed to sense something more between the two.

But, he reminded himself with a grimace, there was nothing to speak of between employer and employee. No fleeting glances, no lingering touches – nothing to suggest that Penelope had any interest in pursuing anything beyond the professional relationship they had established. And, if there had been some indication of her desire, it was all worthless now. She was clearly lonely in the Wastes with naught but a dog and a ghoul for company. Why else would she have sought out a man to keep her company through the night – a man like Andy, no less? Charon had thought that Penelope bought his contract because she wanted some company, someone with whom to share her experiences. Now, though, he felt the hard truth settle in his gut like a lead weight: he was there for her protection. Nothing more, nothing less. She needed to stay alive, and he was the perfect bodyguard.


	2. Night Person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, look, another chapter! With E3 going on (and consequently my burning desire for some Fallout 4 news), my muse has been kicked into high gear, so expect a couple of new chapters to be going up pretty soon! 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!
> 
> <3 topside

Penelope awoke several hours later, languidly stretching her arms above her head as she curled her toes, enjoying the sensation of her tired muscles protesting, then relaxing. She opened her eyes slowly, glancing out the window beside her bed; with a grimace, she noted that the sky was a rusty orange color, indicating night was about to fall. Not only had she slept the day away, but she had wasted the night before, as well. Sure, it had been fun enough in the moment, but as she had tossed and turned, trying to sleep, regret had crept into her mind. She hadn’t been a virgin, but she was certainly inexperienced, and Andy had offered her naught but a drunken leer as he plunged into her, eliciting a small yelp of pain that she had instantly regretted. He had proved to be a bit of a sadist, thriving off the pain he caused her as he nipped at her neck and gripped her roughly, fingernails digging into her skin. The copious amount of alcohol in her system helped her to ignore the pain and instead enjoy his rough, powerful strokes, but the sting of lingering teeth marks on her skin left her feeling a bit sick to her stomach.

Before last night, she had only been with one other man, and, interestingly, he had made love to her just as Andy had: roughly, dispassionately, caring more about his release than her comfort or pleasure. Their first time had been excruciating, as he had ignored her desperate plea for him to go slowly. He was impatient; it had been far from his first rodeo, and he had no patience for the fragile girl beneath him. Despite the pain, Penelope had gone back for seconds just days later. She had craved the feeling of acceptance, however brief, he gave her as he grinned at her and beckoned her into his arms. He was the closest thing to a friend she’d had in the Vault save Amata’s pitying friendship.

But out here, in the Wastes, Penelope had quickly outgrown the need for friendship and acceptance. They were luxuries that she simply couldn’t afford, having to devote all of her energy to simply surviving. Though, she had been more than a little relieved when she found Dogmeat at the scrapyard, glad to have a companion that she knew wouldn’t try to rip her throat out as she slept. And when she had stumbled into Underworld, half-dead and bleeding heavily from a wound in her gut, she had nearly been overwhelmed by the reception the ghouls there had given her. When she woke up to see Dr. Barrows hovering over her with a stimpak grasped in his hand, relief had washed over her; as she puttered around the ghoul city during her recovery, she felt herself truly relax for the first time since she had left the Vault. There, finally, she felt safe.

And there she had met Charon.

She remembered her first impression of the ghoul. He was tall and stoic, and he had watched her from the moment she had stepped into The Ninth Circle. She knew it was unusual for a human to stay in Underworld for as long as she had, but the ghouls’ curious stares didn’t really bother her. Before reaching Underworld, the only ghoul with which she had come in contact was Gob, the bartender at Moriarty’s Saloon in Megaton, and she had formed a fast friendship with him. It was easy to understand why these creatures – these people – were wary of humans, but she was careful not to give them any reason to distrust her. They, in return, welcomed her into their city and made her feel at home.

Penelope had been about to leave Underworld when she witnessed Ahzrukhal’s cruelty to Charon for the first time. She had been leaned up against the counter, bartering with the old ghoul for some supplies she would need to get her through the Wastes. Behind her, a drunken brawl had broken out, and, though Charon had sprung into action immediately, the fighters had broken several dishes before he managed to separate them and kick them out of the bar. Ahzrukhal had quickly finished their trade, and Penelope was halfway out the door when the ghoul pushed Charon against the wall, a knife pressed to his patchy throat.

“I keep you around to protect my shit,” he had growled. Charon’s expression was one of utter calm, but his eyes shone with a desperate hatred. “Not to ogle smoothskins while fuckheads destroy my shop.”

“Ahzrukhal, stop!” Penelope had cried, re-entering the room and forcing the ghouls apart. “He broke up the fight, what more do you want?”

“Stay out of this, Smoothskin,” Ahzrukhal snarled, roughly pushing her aside so he could get to his slave.

“I have an offer for you,” she had said quickly, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. Ahzrukhal paused and turned to her with a sigh.

“Can it wait?”

“No.” She had dug into her pack and pulled out a handful of caps, causing Ahzrukhal’s milky eyes to light up. “Five hundred caps for his contract.”

“Five hundred?” He had snorted. “It would cost more than that to get another guard. Fifteen hundred caps.”

“Seven hundred.”

“Twelve hundred.”

“A thousand.”

“Deal.” She had given him the money, and he had turned to retrieve the contract from the safe embedded into the wall behind the counter. As soon as the paper was in her hands, Charon was thrusting her aside with one hand while the other reached for the shotgun strapped to his back. Three bullets later and he was back at her side. She hadn’t questioned his actions, and he hadn’t left her side since.

Sighing, Penelope forced herself out of bed and picked her clothes off the spot on the floor where she had discarded them before falling into bed. As she bent to retrieve them, she remembered Charon walking in on her the night before. It wasn’t the first time he had seen her naked: various wounds had necessitated his medical attention over the months, but she still felt heat creep into her cheeks as she saw him in her mind’s eye, clad in nothing more than a pair of small shorts as she scrambled to cover her bare breasts. He hadn’t let his gaze linger, and she was unused to that. Before, any man that had caught her naked had stared, a hungry look in their eye. Even last night, Andy had been fixated on her breasts, running his calloused hands over the smooth, sensitive skin. But Charon, she reminded herself as she dressed quickly, was not Andy, and he was not Butch.

Once she was clothed, Penelope exited her room, Dogmeat at her heels. She glanced into Charon’s room as she passed it, but it was empty, as she had expected. Dogmeat bounded down the stairs ahead of her and pressed against the front door with a whine; obediently, she opened it before turning to face Charon, who was, again, sitting in the armchair by the door, a book in hand. He looked up at her and smirked.

“I think your internal clock is backwards,” he said, and she wrinkled her nose at him.

“I was tired. I was up all night, after all,” she reminded him, stepping past his chair and into the little alcove she used as a kitchen.

Behind her, Charon’s smirk dropped into a slight scowl. He knew from the nonchalance with which she spoke that she hadn’t meant to refer back to her intimacy with Andy, but after dwelling on it all day for reasons he couldn’t fathom, it was all he could think of.

“Have you eaten?” She called from the fridge, and he quickly schooled his face into a blank expression before she noticed his scowl.

“No. But I went out and got some more brahmin milk while you were sleeping, if you want some Sugar Bombs.”

“I’m actually thinking mac ‘n cheese sounds good,” she replied, and he could hear her rummaging around for the ingredients. He returned to his book, and she hummed along with the upstairs jukebox as she cooked. Dinner was ready in no time, and she brought him a steaming bowl of mac ‘n cheese, her own food in her other hand. They ate in companionable silence, he gobbling down the food as she picked at hers absently.

“Are you ok?” He asked, breaking the silence. She looked up at him and studied his face for a long moment before nodding.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Last night.” He grimaced. “No, not- Not that. I’m sorry for disappearing like I did.”

“It’s fine, Smoothskin. Wadsworth told me where you were-”

“Not just then. I mean leaving for the walls as soon as we got back, and then disappearing without a word. You deserve better than that,” she insisted a bit angrily. “It’s just that ever since Dad-” She cut herself off abruptly as her throat tightened, and she glared down at the floor, fighting to stifle her sadness.

“I know,” he said simply, reaching a hand across the table to touch her knee gently, the kind gesture making Penelope look up in surprise. “Don’t worry about it.” With that, he stood and gathered his dish, heading into the bathroom to wash up.

“Where are we going next?” He called over his shoulder, peering out the bathroom door to see that she was still slouched in her chair.

“Hm? Oh. I’m not sure. I’d like to find Rockopolis, if we can. Daring says that’s the last place he saw Argyle.”

“What’s your obsession with finding him?” Charon rasped, grabbing a rag from a nearby shelf to dry the dish he’d just cleaned.

“They were best friends,” she said simply, shrugging. “From back before he was a ghoul. And Daring didn’t abandon him after he changed. It’s unusual to see a relationship like that between a ghoul and a human.”

“And then there’s us,” he mumbled under his breath, not noticing that she had come up behind him.

“And then there’s us,” she agreed quietly, placing a hand on his arm. He looked up into her green gaze and found she was giving him an unusually affectionate smile, and it made his pulse quicken under his mottled chest.

“I’d like to leave at sunrise,” she said suddenly, changing the subject as she went to the sink to wash her own dish. He blinked, feeling a bit disoriented as he clumsily turned to face her. She glanced over to meet his eyes, gaze lingering on his for a long, silent moment. “Will you be ready?” She murmured, not breaking their intense stare. He nodded dumbly, swallowing thickly around his dry mouth.

“I’m always ready, Smoothskin,” he managed after a moment, ripping his gaze away from hers. “I’m gonna turn in for the night,” he mumbled, making his way to the steps. “Some of us didn’t sleep all day.” His tone was joking, and he shot her a distracted smirk as he ascended the stairs.

Now alone in the living room, Penelope finished cleaning up their dinner and sighed, looking around aimlessly. It was dark out now, and, though she knew she needed to be well-rested for their trip tomorrow, she was restless. Dogmeat was still wandering around the town, she remembered, and she set off to find him, habitually snatching up her combat knife as she went through the door. She shut the door quietly behind her so as not to alert Charon to her absence: not only did the ghoul need his rest, but Penelope wanted to be alone for a while.

The air outside was thick with the heat that still lingered from the day, but she breathed it in deeply nonetheless, eyes fluttering closed as she allowed herself a rare moment of relaxation. She felt relatively safe in Megaton, though not quite as secure as in the ghoul-filled Underworld. Here, she still had to be wary of some of Megaton’s less favorable citizens: Moriarty and Jericho, for one, as well as the Jet-addicted Leo and his brother Andy. Penelope’s eyes shot open as her thoughts turned to Andy. She would have to take care to avoid The Brass Lantern for a while lest Andy expected a repeat performance. It would help, she thought wryly, if the man didn’t live and work literally beneath her feet; still, his devotion to his restaurant would make it easier to avoid him.

Finally forcing herself to move from her spot in front of the door, Penelope turned and made her way over the metal walkways and onto the sloping dirt hill that led from Megaton’s gate down to the crater. Walking toward the crater would inevitably take her by The Brass Lantern, so she trudged up the hill, boots sliding slightly over the dusty ground. She knew that sometimes Gob would slip Dogmeat any scraps of food he managed to smuggle away from Moriarty’s, so she headed that way to look for the wayward pup, scanning the area around her as she went. She was just passing the Water Processing Plant when she heard a soft noise; her hand was on the hilt of her knife in an instant, and she narrowed her eyes, willing herself to see through the darkness around her.

Suddenly, her hands were pinned above her, and her knife clattered to the walkway with a clang of metal on metal. She could smell booze in the air as a man’s hard body pressed roughly up against her; in the scant moonlight, she could barely make out Andy’s features.

“Fuck off,” she snarled, struggling to free her arms from his grasp.

“I’d rather fuck you,” he retorted, ducking his head to kiss her roughly. She turned her face away from him, and he let out a feral growl. “Suddenly shy?” He asked venomously, allowing his free hand to tug at the hem of her tank top. She cursed silently, realizing she had forgotten to put her armor back on before leaving the house. She hadn’t thought she’d need it in town.

Andy’s fingernails scraped up her side, making her wince with pain, before his work-worn hand settled in the small of her back, pulling her hips harshly up against his. She twisted violently, trying to break free, but he simply held her tighter, dipping his head into the junction between her neck and shoulder, where he bit down hard. Penelope yelped as tears welled in her eyes: that was harder than anything he had done the night before, and she could feel him grinning against her skin as he rocked his hips into hers once more, sending her back slamming into the wall of the Water Processing Plant.

“Get away from me,” she warned lowly, careful to keep the fear that crept into her mind out of her voice, “or you’re going to regret it.” He chuckled darkly, nipping at her earlobe and sending hot wafts of breath over her cheek and neck.

“I don’t think so,” he replied, stopping the rocking of his hips and moving the hand that rested on her back. Careful to keep his grip on her, he reached for the door to the plant, laughing quietly as he did so. “This is the perfect place for a little privacy, you know,” he said, voice almost conversational as he dragged her toward the door. “I came looking for Leo’s fucking supply, but… You’ll do.”

“Get off me!” She insisted, digging the heels of her boots into the walkway and pulling against him with all her might. He had handled her with ease the night before, but she hadn’t realized how strong he was until he yanked her back up against him, arms twisted painfully behind her back.

“Mmm, you’re feisty tonight,” he rumbled, crushing his lips to hers briefly. “I like you even better without all the alcohol, I think…”

“Leave me alone!” Her cry echoed off the metal walls, and she hoped, just for a moment, that someone would hear her and come to her rescue.

Suddenly, the pressure of Andy hard up against her was gone, and she tumbled to the ground, disoriented by the sudden change. She heard a guttural noise and, looking up, was surprised to see Charon towering above her, Dogmeat at his side, hackles raised. He held Andy by the collar, the shorter man’s feet dangling off the ground.

“Stop!” She cried as Charon drew back his fist. He hesitated and gave her an expectant look. “Don’t hit him.”

“You’re joking.” His voice was flat, disbelieving.

“Don’t hit him,” she repeated firmly, giving Charon a pointed look. He knew without her saying that this was one of the few real orders she would ever give him, and he dropped Andy to the ground with a furious snarl.

“Leave,” he ordered the cowering human, who scrambled to his feet and quickly obeyed. Charon watched him go with murder in his eyes before turning back to his employer, who was carefully picking herself off the walkway.

“Are you ok?” His voice, so harsh just moments before, was soft and worried, and his ever-alert eyes softened as he looked her over.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, stooping to pick up her knife. “Just some hurt pride.” She paused, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. “I… Thank you,” she said after a moment, though she couldn’t help but feel ashamed that Andy had gotten the best of her so easily. She could take out a hive of Raiders from atop a crumbling overpass, but Andy, an average man, had managed to disarm her with little trouble.

“What were you doing out here alone?” Charon asked with a frown as the three of them made their way back to the house.

“I was looking for Dogmeat. I didn’t think… I mean, I made sure not to go by The Brass Lantern so he wouldn’t see me. I didn’t expect him to be over by the Plant…” She drifted off and shrugged helplessly.

“You should have sent me after him. That’s my job.”

“You’re not a dog catcher,” she protested.

“No, but I’m here to keep you alive and safe. I can’t do that if you keep sneaking out in the middle of the night.” Though his voice was level, Penelope felt like a child being scolded.

“How did you find me, anyway?” She asked, looking up at him curiously, eager to steer the conversation away from her midemeanors. “You were in bed when I left.”

“Dogmeat was barking outside the door, so I went to let him in. When I didn’t see you in the living room, I thought maybe you had gone to see Gob, so we came to check on you.” He glanced at her, brow furrowed. “And it’s a good thing we did.”

Penelope didn’t respond, instead quickening her pace to reach their house sooner. Though she knew she was safe with Charon by her side, every shadow seemed to leap out at her, and it was with relief that she ducked through the metal door to her home, allowing Charon to shut and lock it while she slowly dragged herself up the stairs. He eyed her with concern, not sure if she was lost in thought or traumatized by her near rape.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” He ventured after a moment, trailing her up the steps.

“Hm? Oh, yes. I’m sure. Completely unharmed.” She offered him a distracted smile that did nothing to calm his worries. “I’m going to bed. We’re heading out at sunrise. I want to find Rockopolis before nightfall, if we can.”

“And if we can’t?”

“Girdershade should be pretty close. We’ll stay the night there if we can’t find Rockopolis. Sierra _should_ let us stay with her after we got her all that Nuka Cola Quantum.”

Charon’s snort of slight derision brought a wry grin to Penelope’s face. When they had first met Sierra, her fascination with Nuka Cola had struck them both as odd, but she was far from the strangest character they had met in the Wastes, and she seemed harmless, besides – not to mention forthcoming with caps. But, after her deranged quest had sent the pair through an abandoned factory infested with Nuka Lurks, Charon’s opinion of her had soured. Anyone whose obsession left himself and his employer running for their lives with a box of radioactive soda over their shoulder found themselves on Charon’s bad side; nonetheless, she had paid them well for their expedition, and now she was yet another ally on which they could rely out in the Wastes.

“Goodnight, Charon.” Penelope’s dismissal brought Charon from his thoughts about the deluded Sierra, and he nodded to her in acknowledgement before turning toward his bedroom.

“No more sneaking out, ok?” He said over his shoulder, pausing before his door, and, though his voice had been gentle, she fidgeted uncomfortably. “If you get the urge to go somewhere before we set out, wake me up. Or, at the very least, take the mutt with you.” Dogmeat growled, protesting his being called a mutt, but he calmed when Penelope bent to stroke his dirty fur.

“Don’t worry,” she murmured, voice almost too low for Charon to hear. “I don’t plan on leaving this house until the sun comes up.” With that, she turned and beckoned Dogmeat into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her without another word. Again, Charon’s brow creased with worry, but he dismissed it, knowing that if she wanted to talk about what was bothering her, she would bring it up in her own time, and pestering her would do him no good.


	3. Chapter 3

They were already standing at the gates to Megaton when the first rays of dawn lit the morning fog that hung low over the landscape. Simms, they knew, was reluctant to raise the gates before the sun had burned away the fog and shadows, allowing him to confirm that no Slavers were lurking beyond the gate, waiting for their opportunity to attack; but, as usual, he made an exception for Penelope and Charon on the condition that they patrol the town’s walls before setting off into the Wastes. Though Penelope often grumbled that they were wasting their time, Charon knew that she was more than happy to perform the patrol: Megaton was the closest thing she had to a home, and he knew that she would defend it tooth and nail should the need arise.

By the time they had finished their patrol and taken care of the giant ants that had sniffed their way a little too close to the settlement walls, the morning sun blazed above the horizon, already throwing an uncomfortable heat into the air. They easily fell into their usual pace and formation, Penelope leading the way, gun raised and eyes searching while Charon and Dogmeat flanked her, alert for any sign of danger. Though neither of them would ever admit it, Charon and Penelope both felt a sense of comfortable safety when the other was around, and their wary silence was an amicable one.

They made their way across the rocks to Springvale, where Penelope stopped to check on Silver, a Psycho-addicted woman who had once been in the service of Moriarty, much like Nova now was. After stumbling into the sunlight from Vault 101, Penelope had been terrified and desperate to find shelter, and, after wandering helplessly through the Springvale ruins, she had found the old house in which Silver had settled, hoping to hide from Moriarty. The woman had given Penelope shelter for the night and pointed her toward Megaton; in exchange, Penelope had told Moriarty that Silver had disappeared and was nowhere to be found. Though Silver was usually too strung-out to remember the service she did for Penelope, the girl still felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude, and, as such, she often stopped in to make sure Silver hadn’t managed to get herself killed.

That Silver was suffering from chem withdrawal came as no surprise to either traveler, but, even though the woman promised as they were leaving that this time she would really clean up her act, would stop begging and stealing and prostituting herself for a fix, Penelope travelled along the road out of Springvale with a furrow in her brow. The silence that stretched between them was tenser than before; Charon found himself glancing at Penelope more often, focused more on wondering if she was upset than on surveying the landscape for any sort of danger. Nonetheless, when a crackling beep rang through the silence, Charon’s shotgun was cocked and against his shoulder before he could realize that the sound had come from the device around Penelope’s wrist.

“Cover me,” she ordered, looking confused as she set her assault rifle on the ground, the barrel buried in the dust and the butt resting against her thigh. Charon stood close to her, slowly swinging from side to side, one eye closed as he peered through the sight of his shotgun, every muscle tensed and every sense in overdrive.

“What is it?” He asked, his voice quieting habitually. He knew little about Penelope’s electronic bracelet, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the noise had been some sort of warning, like a proximity signal.

“My pip boy picked up another radio signal,” she said, frowning. “But that’s impossible. The only stations are GNR and the Enclave station – I haven’t heard anything about a new station out here. Have you?” Charon shook his head, but she was barely paying attention to him. “If I can just triangulate the signal…” He glanced at her and watched with unveiled awe as she manipulated the small computer’s three buttons, the screens changing with each stroke of her deft fingers. “There!” Lips pursed, she shifted her rifle back into her grip, though she held it one-handed, leaving her left arm unburdened so she could raise the pip boy to eye level and glance between the screen and the land. “That way.” She gestured with her rifle, and, not waiting for Charon to realize they were moving, she stepped off the crumbling pavement of the highway and began making her way across the dusty ground. “We’re too far away for me to make out the broadcast,” she muttered as she walked. “If we can get closer to the source, maybe the signal will get stronger and I can hear it.”

“Penelope,” Charon ventured, feeling suspicion tingling in his mind. “Do we really want to walk toward this? Where there’s radio equipment, there’s people. You may have found a Slaver communication signal or something. That’s not something we want to walk into.” _It could be a trap,_ he added to himself, but he refrained from suggesting that. Penelope often mocked him for being too suspicious of everyday situations, and he didn’t want her to dismiss his concern as mere paranoia.

“We don’t have to go all the way to the source,” she explained distractedly, wrist still lifted to her face. She was so focused that she stumbled over a rock jutting from the ground, and she fumbled to catch herself. Finally distracted from the miniature computer, she spared a look at Charon, then rolled her eyes. “Let me guess: you think it’s a trap?”

“There’s a possibility,” he growled, ruffled by her flippant dismissal. “Who out here has access to that kind of technology? Caravaners, but they would have told you if they developed some new form of communication – you’re their investor, after all. So, who else? Raiders? They don’t usually have the skills to build a working radio, and what would they do with it, anyway? So that leaves Slavers. They’ve got all sorts of technicians working with them to keep those collars working. It’s not such a stretch to think they’ve set up a radio relay so they can broadcast to all their camps.” Penelope opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated, glancing back down at her wrist with an almost feverish look of indecisive excitement. Charon narrowed his eyes, surveying her questioningly. “What didn’t you tell me?” He asked, and she fidgeted under his gaze.

“The pip boy recognizes the source of the signal,” she admitted slowly, shifting her eyes to meet his. “It’s from the Vault.”

Charon was struck dumb with surprise. Penelope had talked very little of her time in the Vault, but what information he had managed to glean suggested that her life there was hardly more pleasant than her life in the Wastes. She had spent nearly two decades alienated from the rest of the kids in the Vault; they had all considered her a lesser human, a position Charon knew all too well. Charon had gotten the impression that her life in the Vault was tolerable, at best, and she had never shown any indication that she wished to return to her childhood home. And yet she was practically throwing herself at the possibility of contact with the underground shelter.

“I’m not saying we should go in,” she said lowly, and the expression in her eyes was one of frenzied confusion. He could understand the internal struggle she faced: the Vault dwellers had exiled her on pain of death, and yet they had been with her for nearly twenty years. Now, with her father gone, they were the closest thing to a family she had left. “I just… I want to hear what they’re saying. Maybe they’ve decided to open the Vault to the outside. Maybe they’re looking to trade – I could arrange for them to be put on the caravan routes. They could make a killing selling purified water…” She looked at him with a heartbreaking desperation, as though pleading him to agree that she should pursue the signal. He hesitated, but the longing in her eyes got to him, and he gave a reluctant nod.

“Ok. How close do we need to get to hear it?” He asked, and her expression melted into one of relief, almost as though his acceptance of her need to hear from the Vault made her more confident about returning to her former home.

“Not too much closer, I think,” she replied, setting off across the terrain again, wrist once more lifted into the air. “The Vault entrance is just over there, tunneled into that hill. Come on.” She led the way, listening intently to the crackle of her pip boy. As they neared the hill, the crackle became a whine, and then a tinny voice rang out from the small speakers.

 _“Things got worse after you left,”_ a female voice intoned. Charon saw Penelope pale and knew that she recognized the speaker. _“My father’s gone mad with power,”_ the voice continued, but Charon was only half-listening, focused instead on his employer, who looked, for the first time since he’d met her, completely terrified. _“If you’re hearing this, please. Stop looking for your dad and help stop mine. I changed the door password to my name. If you’re hearing this, and if you still care enough to help me, you should remember it.”_ The message began to repeat itself, and Penelope carelessly dropped her rifle, desperately reaching for the pip boy to silence it. As the voice cut off, Penelope stared dumbly at the screen, eyes unblinking. Charon watched her for a moment, waiting for her to react, and frowned when she continued to mutely stare.

“Penelope?” He asked after a moment, concerned. She didn’t move. “Penelope,” he repeated, a little more firmly, taking a step toward her. Dogmeat whined and butted his head against the girl’s legs. The contact seemed to snap her out of her trance, and she looked up at Charon. When he met her gaze, he could see tears shining in her eyes.

“It’s Amata,” she rasped, voice thick. “She- She was my friend. Or, the closest thing to a friend I had. She’s the one who helped me escape…” Penelope drifted off, her gaze wandering back to the pip boy.

“What do you want to do?” Charon asked gently.

“I don’t know…” She admitted, her voice small. “I never thought I’d see them again – any of them. I never thought they’d want me back… But if they need my help, then I have to help them, right?” She looked back up at Charon, obviously seeking his opinion. He stared back at her, unsure of what to say.

He wanted to tell her that no, she didn’t have to help them. They had run her out of her home guns blazing, had thrust her from the safety of the underground and into the harsh Wasteland with no regard to her survival. They didn’t _deserve_ her help, as far as Charon was concerned. But, even more than that, he found that he didn’t _want_ her to return to the Vault, no matter the reason. What if they wanted her to stay with them? What if she decided she wanted to return to a life underground? In his mind’s eye, he pictured her standing in the Vault, he watching as the door slid shut, permanently hiding her away from the world. Away from him.

“Whatever you choose, I will follow,” he said finally, and she sighed. He knew she had been hoping for some insight from him, but he wasn’t sure how to tell her that he didn’t want her to respond to the distress call because he was afraid she would leave him. He had no right to be possessive over her, and yet, the idea of her laying down her weapon and sending him on his way made his gut clench.

“I just wanted to find Rockopolis…” Penelope muttered, turning away from Charon and dropping onto a nearby rock, head in hands. “I didn’t want to deal with all this.”

“Ignore it, then,” Charon suggested, stooping to retrieve the gun she had dropped in her haste to silence the Vault’s distress signal. “If you don’t want to go back, then don’t. That place existed in peace for two hundred years – they’ll figure it out on their own.” His words, though meant to encourage Penelope, made her sigh.

“That’s just it,” she said, looking up at him with a dry smirk. “It was perfectly peaceful down there – until _Dad_.”

She spat out her father’s name, face darkening with anger. Charon was surprised: he had thought from the first time he had heard of the so-called ‘Lone Wanderer’ that she had been royally fucked by her father, and he had always secretly wondered why she even cared enough to find him. She, however, had never shown any indication that she harbored any anger for the man. She had fought her way through the ruins of D.C. almost single-handedly, had even taken on a Super Mutant Behemoth, just to get a scrap of news about her wayward parent. She had entered into a virtual world in the vague hope that she could rescue him. And, when he had died at the purifier, she had thrown herself against the glass, screaming his name as she desperately tried to open the door, thrashing against Charon and Doctor Li as they tried to pull her to safety. Charon had long since given up trying to rationalize her unwaveringly golden opinion of her father, but now it seemed she _wasn’t_ blind to his wrongdoings.

“Regardless of how I feel about the Vault,” Penelope said after a long moment, setting her jaw with a look of determination, “they’ve been thrown into chaos because of me. If they’d never taken my father and me in, none of this would have happened. I have to go help them.” Though her words sent a feeling of cold dread through Charon’s gut, she seemed relieved to have made a decision, and she stood abruptly, retrieving her gun from Charon’s grasp. “Come on. No point in wasting time. The faster I get down there, the sooner this whole thing will be over and we can get back to work.”

“Do you want me to go down with you, or do you want to do this yourself?” He asked, relieved that she had no apparent intentions of remaining in the Vault.

“I want you with me. I have no idea what I’m going to find down there.” Her face clouded. “Last time I was there, they tried to kill me. For all I know, they’re trying to lure me back so they can finish the job.” Charon couldn’t help but grin at her words.

“ _Now_ who’s the paranoid one?” He teased, though the fact that she perceived the situation as a possible trap gave him an odd sense of pride. When they had met, she had assumed the best of every situation, an outlook that nearly got her killed multiple times. Now, it seemed, she was finally learning to think like a true Wastelander.

She dismissed his teasing with a distracted smile, and he could tell, though she set her jaw and continued their trek across the dusty ground, that she was doubting herself with every step. Nonetheless, they hurried away from Springvale and toward the hill Penelope had pointed out earlier; she gripped her rifle tightly now, arm and pip boy tucked securely by her side. The pair had passed through the area numerous times on their various adventures, but Penelope had never said a word about the Vault being steps away from the road they traveled, and Charon considered how difficult it must be for her to live so close to her old life and yet be entirely cut off from it.

Until now.

Again, the fear that Penelope would choose to stay in the Vault crept into Charon’s mind, but he did his best to ignore it as they clambered over chunks of tarmac that had separated from what was once a highway.

Penelope broke away from the road and led Charon up an almost hidden dirt path that wound up the side of a hill he could remember passing more times than he could hope to count. As they reached the top of the incline, he noticed a raggedy-looking door set into the rock face of the hill, and he couldn’t help but be impressed by Vault-Tec’s commitment to keep the pre-war upperclass safe beneath tons of dirt and rock.

“This is it,” Penelope said unnecessarily, staring at the door as though she expected it to come to life and attack her.

“Are you sure about this?” Charon asked, eyeing her. She didn’t notice his worried gaze, instead fixated on the door.

“Yeah,” she answered, but her voice was hollow and unconvincing. She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush of air. “Yeah, I’m sure. We’ll just go in, see what’s wrong, and get out. We can stock up on purified water while we’re in there; they’ve got an unlimited supply. This is no different than going into the Super-Duper Mart to get food and meds. We’re just gathering resources. If the Vault gets put on the caravan routes, that just means more fresh water for the Wasteland.” She paused and finally looked away from the door, pinning Charon with a bitter smile. “And isn’t that what Dad always wanted?” He didn’t know how to respond to that, but Penelope didn’t seem to actually be looking for an answer.

She took a deep breath and turned the door handle.


End file.
